


Welcome Home

by sawbones



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Grinding, M/M, mask kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 15:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16789747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sawbones/pseuds/sawbones
Summary: Mark has been gone for three whole weeks.





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kinktober.

James was spooning khoya into a bowl balanced on cheap electronic scales when he heard the front door slam shut. He glanced at the clock on the wall by the fridge and pursed his lips. **  
**

“That you, love?” he called through, “Thought you weren’t due home for another couple of hours.”

No answer. No sound but the tinny radio on the kitchen table. He was probably exhausted if he’d came straight from the base to be this early, so James couldn’t really blame him if he wasn’t in a talking mood. Three weeks on duty could do that. Three weeks on duty could also drive James up the fucking wall when he was the one left behind.

He focused on getting the quarter-teaspoon of baking soda just right to stop himself from sacking the whole lot and literally running through to the hallway to greet Mark like marginally less hairy mutt, wagging his tail and everything.

“Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” he continued, because even if he could just about make himself stay in one spot, he never could shut up, “Only I finally got your mum to give me the recipe for those gulab jamun you like so much, and I thought I’d surprise you with them, but I’ve not even got the pan on yet.”

It was baby steps with Mark’s mum. Baby steps. She still didn’t approve of him but she approved of someone making sure her sweet baby boy was just as coddled as he’d always been. And…

And, and and– he’d gotten this idea in his head of feeding Mark those sweet little dough-balls, fingers to lips, past lips, kitten-tongue rasping the syrup off his thumb, and when James got an idea in his head it was very, very hard to forget about it.

Movement on the edge of his vision; Mark, standing in the doorway. He was still in full gear, from boots to mask. No guns, of course, no guns. James dropped his spoon in the bowl with a clatter and wiped his hands on his pyjama bottoms.

“Something happen?” he asked, because he was still just standing there, and he hadn’t gotten changed, and he was so early and– what bombshell did he have to drop?

Mark still didn’t say anything. Silent, watchful. James couldn’t see his eyes behind the goggles of his M50 mask, but he could still feel them on his skin. It could have been anyone under there, he thought, but it really wasn’t. He could tell Mark anywhere, from the way he held himself, to the way he tilted his head to the side by degrees when he was thinking.

He was thinking, James could tell. Thinking and watching him. He held that blank and glassy gaze for two seconds that felt like two minutes, before Mark looked away and crossed the room to the kitchen table. With a slow and deliberate hand, turned the radio off; the hairs on James’ arms stood on end, and he couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran up his spine.

“Oh,” he said, and Mark looked up at that. _Oh_ , because something hadn’t happened, _oh_ because there was nothing to worry about now Mark was home, “Came back in some kind of mood, did you?”

The little head-tilt again, and James was grinning because Mark’s moods were good moods, oh yes good moods indeed. He could feel the energy building in him, bright and excited and hot to the touch. It made him want to bounce on the balls of his feet like a boxer just so it had somewhere to go, made him want to pinch and grab and stroke.

Mark made him wait - he always did. Said James had to learn some self-control, said James had to calm down, but fucking hell he didn’t want to be calm when Mark was there and he was _watching_ and he was _thinking_. And then– a lift of his chin, an invitation written in millimeters of movement, he he was across the room in a flash, throwing his arms around Mark’s neck.

He tried to kiss him, aiming for the ridiculous duct-tape cross over where his mouth would be, because he’d always wanted to do that but he’d thought there was a reason they’d never fucked around in gear before, like it was untouchable, sacrosanct. Mark intercepted him with a hand on his jaw, stopping him dead.

He never forgot about the height difference between then, never got used to it; he loved to be reminded, and looking up at the reflection of his own desperate expression in Mark’s goggles made him feel every single one of those five inches like a slap in the face. The thumb gripping his jaw slipped round, brushed over his lips; he parted them on instinct, letting the odd grain of the fabric rasp against his tongue.

Mark yanked his hand away, grabbed James by the shoulders, and shoved him up against the table with a thigh pushed between his legs. The air was forced out of him in a low, bitten-off moan, and this time Mark was too slow to stop him from crossing his mouth against the silver tape. He loved him, he loved him and Mute too, because they were the same person and they weren’t, not always.

“Did you miss me?” Mark said even as James kissed him, his voice a soft hiss through the filters.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he said, kissing anywhere he could reach: the tape, the filters, the edge of the goggles.

“Show me,” Mark said, “Show me how much you missed me.”

James mind went blank for a split second, before he made a grab for one of Mark’s hands and tried to draw it to where his aching cock was tenting the cotton of his pyjamas. He made a wounded noise when Mark snatched his hand away.

“No hands,” he said.

James let his head tip back in frustration. No hands, when all he wanted to do was touch. Mark pushed his thigh against him a little firmer, and he rolled his hips to rock against it. The friction felt good, but he wanted more and he was getting desperate. He braced one hand on the table behind him, accidentally knocking the radio to the ground; the other he hooked around the back of Mark’s neck for purchase.

He tried to start slow, to keep the pace steady so he wasn’t rutting against him like a dog, but he couldn’t help himself. Not when it had been so long, not when Mark was solid and silent above him, watching him with unseen, unreadable eyes. He was already leaking so much, the thin fabric turned semi-transparent with pre-cum, sliding against him with every thrust.

His arms were starting to shake; he was so tense, wound up like a coiled spring. He needed relief, needed release, but he was chasing it without ever catching up. His grinding was sloppy, no rhythm, all want.

“Mark,” he exhaled, and he sounded so fucking soft he should have been embarrassed, but he’d given that up long ago, pretending he was too proud and too clever to be head-over-fucking-heels, “Please.”

Mark didn’t say anything, but he reached between them and pulled James’ waistband down over his cock. He offered him just the palm of his glove, but somehow that was all it took; James pressed his face to Mark’s shoulder as he came, his hips twitching helplessly. He held him like that for a moment, just breathing through the aftershocks. He turned his head, let his nose bump against Mark’s throat, covered as it was.

“Yeah, I missed you,” he said, nuzzling against the fabric, not giving a damn if half a dozen pouches, toggles, and tags were poking into him. Mark curled over him, hooked his chin over his shoulder to hug him properly, awkward angle and all.

“Missed you too,” he said. James could hear the grin in it, even if he couldn’t see it.

**Author's Note:**

> say hi at [glazkov-smile](https://glazkov-smile.tumblr.com/)


End file.
